There might be an update or two in a week or so. Not promising anything, of course, but there might be.
The Land of Sad Songs – Stories From Protect and Survive Finland
- Thread starter DrakonFin
- Start date
There might be an update or two in a week or so. Not promising anything, of course, but there might be.
Why I went to church every Sunday after the exchange?
There was little else to do to relax your mind in a meaningful way in these years! It didn't even matter whether you believed in God, regained your faith, or lost it due to the events.
Important was that you could be there.
The church was not the only authority in the community. But, sadly, the one least probable to abuse you.
There was little else to do to relax your mind in a meaningful way in these years! It didn't even matter whether you believed in God, regained your faith, or lost it due to the events.
Important was that you could be there.
The church was not the only authority in the community. But, sadly, the one least probable to abuse you.
Stand silently, close your eyes
I have influence and contacts to the police
The night is cramped, the sea is steaming
You are brazen and indecent
You must be silenced
Don't say anything, I am not interested
I'll read your diaries, lock you into a prison
I have a home where you can see Tallinn
I have lived for so long I can do anything I want
Chorus:
And every night I'll play the Satumaa tango
And if sometimes it feels someone shouts for help at sea
I'll turn up the stereo
I have power and I'm training others
And when they shout under my window ”It can't be like this”
I'll go back to bed
…
Maija Vilkkumaa: Satumaa-tango (1999)
LI. Documents
A transcript of a discussion between the Minne 1984 Project Secretary, Jan Holmén, FL and [REDACTED]. Dated March 2013.
JSH: And so, [REDACTED], you have seen some of the material collected so far, including [REDACTED] in Finland. I organized for us to meet here to get some feedback from you about how you think we should proceed along.
FL: Dear boy, I am amazed at what you and the other good people have been able to dig up, especially in regards to the Finnish archives – to be honest I was very sceptical about the authorities in Mikkeli releasing so many documents for us to use. I have always found the Finns somewhat, ah, let us say prickly in any dealings I've had with them.
JSH: I see why you might have that view about them, considering... Well, we've had some luck, obviously, and to be frank it has required a fair bit of work...
FL: Oh, certainly!
JSH:...and we've had some help, too, both here and in Finland. But we couldn't have done it without all the people we have interviewed. Like we originally predicted, that is where the story is, the meat of it, not in the official documents however illuminating some of those have proven to be as, well, secondary sources.
FL:And what remains now is the Report, right?
JSH: You are right as ever, sir. The question of course is what goes to the official, that is to say public report and what will be left out. The material we have gives us many possibilities as to the direction we could choose, and I have already written a fair amount of text I am ready to submit for your approval in a few days...
FL: Oh, drop the ”sir” and call me [REDACTED]! We have worked together long enough for that now. Now, if you want my opinion, why not publish all of it, everything you want. It is true, isn't it? Accompanied with suitable editing and source criticism, nobody can say you are not giving a fair representation of what people remember of the War and the aftermath, and how that relates to what actually happened – put it out there, I say.
[REDACTED]: Ahem, however I would like to agree with the gist of what you just said, a too liberal a publication policy will not be in the interest of the Swedish state. Remember, the Project would not have been possible without state funding and open support, from day one, and you have both signed documents to affirm that you understand and accept the interests and rights of the state to limit the extent of the material published under the Project auspices, pursuant of the Security of the Realm Act and other pertinent pieces of legislation. The final decisions regarding the content of the public Report lie with the Swedish government and all matters will go through my section.
JSH: First we fought with the Finnish State Information Office to get the permits and documents and information we needed, and now we have to put up with the Swedish state to say what we can publish... Frankly, I am reaching the end of my tether here. With all due respect, sir, what about the public interest? A lot of information has come to light during our work in Finland that while arguably falling within the statutes of the Security of the Realm Act in its most stringent form is highly important to bring to the public attention in both Finland and Sweden, for a more truthful and concrete...
[REDACTED]: Let me just stop you there. You can go to the Project Directors and ask them – they will agree with what I just said...
JSH: The Project Directors? They have hardly set one foot between them in Finland during the entire Project! They lack the perspective of those who have actually travelled the land and interviewed the people there, seen the way things are even today. The Project Directors have no understanding of...
[REDACTED]: Now listen to me, Holmén. You are not turning this into a crusade for the people and what you call ”their need to know”. This is rather clear-cut – the biggest part of the highly valuable material you have collected will be published, but some of it will remain classified. As Project Secretary you must understand that this is how it must go. With a Project like this under your belt – and you have done very well – you are looking towards a bright future indeed. I am sure our expert here agrees. But persist in fighting the state in this and you'll career might take an entirely different turn. Entirely different, you'll do well to remember.
JSH: What? I will not sit here and be threatened by, by a...
FL: Please, gentlemen! There is no reason to raise your voices here, so refrain from that if you can be so kind. I can see and understand what you are saying, the both of you. You have different perspectives, and while I agree with what the Project Secretary here is saying, I can, alas, see some utility in the state's argument as well. We will not reach an agreement about the publication policy here today, so I would like to use this time to talk with JSH here about editing and such technical matters.
[REDACTED]: Of course. I will leave you to it – I will see you later in the afternoon to discuss further matters to do with the publication. Good day to you both.
FL: Good day to you, Mr. [REDACTED].
[[REDACTED] leaves the room at 12.15.]
JSH: That damn bureaucrat... The way he talks to me, I swear...
FL: Dear boy, don't allow him to get to you. If I ever learned anything about dealing with the authorities, it is not to be provoked when they are trying to provoke you. You'll be better off to remember that, too. Nothing rattles the bureaucratic mind worse than the man that won't be rattled. Your Swedish bureaucracy, mind you, is something formidable. In some ways, not so bad as it was in the old Soviet Union – but the last three decades might have given it some more, well, oomph. Giving more powers to the state in an emergency tend to do that anywhere, and I understand there was some tradition here to build on...
JSH: You are right, of course. I need to work on my patience. It is just that after hearing all these stories, I want to see them told to so many others. It is something like my duty now, I think.
FL: Duty... Let me tell you something, young man. I've seen men do things for duty neither of us would probably be capable of – probably. Duty is a terrible thing, and many lives have been destroyed by people merely doing their duty. Looking back three decades, surely men who did their duty killed a lot more people during and after the War than those that didn't.
Consider me, if you will – you know my story. My duty was to the Soviet Union. But to be perfectly honest, that was quite possibly the last thing on my mind when I finally stood on the deck of the passenger ship Apollo III as they cast off the ropes and it started slowly drifting away from the Finnish coast in late summer 1984.
I can't rightly say what I was thinking. It was all a haze. The light of the summer morning was something of a shock to me after spending... many weeks... in darkness. I thought it was a dream, at first, especially after the man with the glasses brought the dog to me.
JSH: The little dog, Sharik?
FL: The same. He wagged his tail happily to see me. I felt like... Seeing an old friend. To think of it, the little dog was quite probably the only friend I had in the world, then. The Swedish volunteers had kept him when the Finnish soldiers took me, and then one of them had decided to give him back to me. I think it was the tall bearded man in the boat.
The youngish man with the glasses was my escort, my keeper. He showed me an official ID of sorts, but he wasn't in uniform - he was wearing a sweater, jeans and a long overcoat. He had a thinning, short-cropped hair, a plain, serious face and those round steel-rimmed glasses that gave him a strict look. I never caught his name. He had a partner, too, a greying man by the name of Karlsson.
It was Karlsson who told me what was happening when we sat in chairs along the ship's corridor, me holding the dog and him handing me a small stack of papers. We were bound for Sweden. I was officially a refugee now, under the protection of the Swedish state – provided I told them what they wanted to hear, of course. There would be ”debriefings”, like he said, and many people would want to talk to me. It was not that they believed I was a Soviet spy, oh no, but as such rumours had been mentioned in reports their superiors were getting, well, it had to be investigated. Otherwise, Karlsson told me, I was perfectly safe. Me and the dog. Mother Svea had accepted us to her bosom, he told me with a faint smile, and if we played by her rules she would be good to us, the stray dogs that we were.
”- Need I remind you”, Karlsson told me, ”this is a deal nobody else will offer you”.
Sitting snugly here on this white ship bound West to one of the few safe havens left in Europe I knew this man told me the truth.
During the war my duty was to the Soviet Union. I abandoned that duty when I deserted my unit with Pavel. And Pavel died with a hole in his stomach. Then my only duty was to myself - and to my rediscovered friend Sharik.
And so I took my documents from Karlsson and shook his hand. Solemnly, the dog looked us both in turn and I could swear he nodded to seal the deal.
JSH: It is always nice to hear more of your story, but what am I to glean from this? Are you telling me to forsake my duty for the truth for, what, comfort, security and a career?
FL: It is not exactly that. What I would want to remind you is that you need to choose your battles. Fighting the ones you are destined to lose gets you nowhere. You'll see this won't be the hardest spot they'll put you to, mark my words. And the rules or the goals of the game... They might not be exactly the ones you think you have learned.
(filler)
I have influence and contacts to the police
The night is cramped, the sea is steaming
You are brazen and indecent
You must be silenced
Don't say anything, I am not interested
I'll read your diaries, lock you into a prison
I have a home where you can see Tallinn
I have lived for so long I can do anything I want
Chorus:
And every night I'll play the Satumaa tango
And if sometimes it feels someone shouts for help at sea
I'll turn up the stereo
I have power and I'm training others
And when they shout under my window ”It can't be like this”
I'll go back to bed
…
Maija Vilkkumaa: Satumaa-tango (1999)
LI. Documents
A transcript of a discussion between the Minne 1984 Project Secretary, Jan Holmén, FL and [REDACTED]. Dated March 2013.
JSH: And so, [REDACTED], you have seen some of the material collected so far, including [REDACTED] in Finland. I organized for us to meet here to get some feedback from you about how you think we should proceed along.
FL: Dear boy, I am amazed at what you and the other good people have been able to dig up, especially in regards to the Finnish archives – to be honest I was very sceptical about the authorities in Mikkeli releasing so many documents for us to use. I have always found the Finns somewhat, ah, let us say prickly in any dealings I've had with them.
JSH: I see why you might have that view about them, considering... Well, we've had some luck, obviously, and to be frank it has required a fair bit of work...
FL: Oh, certainly!
JSH:...and we've had some help, too, both here and in Finland. But we couldn't have done it without all the people we have interviewed. Like we originally predicted, that is where the story is, the meat of it, not in the official documents however illuminating some of those have proven to be as, well, secondary sources.
FL:And what remains now is the Report, right?
JSH: You are right as ever, sir. The question of course is what goes to the official, that is to say public report and what will be left out. The material we have gives us many possibilities as to the direction we could choose, and I have already written a fair amount of text I am ready to submit for your approval in a few days...
FL: Oh, drop the ”sir” and call me [REDACTED]! We have worked together long enough for that now. Now, if you want my opinion, why not publish all of it, everything you want. It is true, isn't it? Accompanied with suitable editing and source criticism, nobody can say you are not giving a fair representation of what people remember of the War and the aftermath, and how that relates to what actually happened – put it out there, I say.
[REDACTED]: Ahem, however I would like to agree with the gist of what you just said, a too liberal a publication policy will not be in the interest of the Swedish state. Remember, the Project would not have been possible without state funding and open support, from day one, and you have both signed documents to affirm that you understand and accept the interests and rights of the state to limit the extent of the material published under the Project auspices, pursuant of the Security of the Realm Act and other pertinent pieces of legislation. The final decisions regarding the content of the public Report lie with the Swedish government and all matters will go through my section.
JSH: First we fought with the Finnish State Information Office to get the permits and documents and information we needed, and now we have to put up with the Swedish state to say what we can publish... Frankly, I am reaching the end of my tether here. With all due respect, sir, what about the public interest? A lot of information has come to light during our work in Finland that while arguably falling within the statutes of the Security of the Realm Act in its most stringent form is highly important to bring to the public attention in both Finland and Sweden, for a more truthful and concrete...
[REDACTED]: Let me just stop you there. You can go to the Project Directors and ask them – they will agree with what I just said...
JSH: The Project Directors? They have hardly set one foot between them in Finland during the entire Project! They lack the perspective of those who have actually travelled the land and interviewed the people there, seen the way things are even today. The Project Directors have no understanding of...
[REDACTED]: Now listen to me, Holmén. You are not turning this into a crusade for the people and what you call ”their need to know”. This is rather clear-cut – the biggest part of the highly valuable material you have collected will be published, but some of it will remain classified. As Project Secretary you must understand that this is how it must go. With a Project like this under your belt – and you have done very well – you are looking towards a bright future indeed. I am sure our expert here agrees. But persist in fighting the state in this and you'll career might take an entirely different turn. Entirely different, you'll do well to remember.
JSH: What? I will not sit here and be threatened by, by a...
FL: Please, gentlemen! There is no reason to raise your voices here, so refrain from that if you can be so kind. I can see and understand what you are saying, the both of you. You have different perspectives, and while I agree with what the Project Secretary here is saying, I can, alas, see some utility in the state's argument as well. We will not reach an agreement about the publication policy here today, so I would like to use this time to talk with JSH here about editing and such technical matters.
[REDACTED]: Of course. I will leave you to it – I will see you later in the afternoon to discuss further matters to do with the publication. Good day to you both.
FL: Good day to you, Mr. [REDACTED].
[[REDACTED] leaves the room at 12.15.]
JSH: That damn bureaucrat... The way he talks to me, I swear...
FL: Dear boy, don't allow him to get to you. If I ever learned anything about dealing with the authorities, it is not to be provoked when they are trying to provoke you. You'll be better off to remember that, too. Nothing rattles the bureaucratic mind worse than the man that won't be rattled. Your Swedish bureaucracy, mind you, is something formidable. In some ways, not so bad as it was in the old Soviet Union – but the last three decades might have given it some more, well, oomph. Giving more powers to the state in an emergency tend to do that anywhere, and I understand there was some tradition here to build on...
JSH: You are right, of course. I need to work on my patience. It is just that after hearing all these stories, I want to see them told to so many others. It is something like my duty now, I think.
FL: Duty... Let me tell you something, young man. I've seen men do things for duty neither of us would probably be capable of – probably. Duty is a terrible thing, and many lives have been destroyed by people merely doing their duty. Looking back three decades, surely men who did their duty killed a lot more people during and after the War than those that didn't.
Consider me, if you will – you know my story. My duty was to the Soviet Union. But to be perfectly honest, that was quite possibly the last thing on my mind when I finally stood on the deck of the passenger ship Apollo III as they cast off the ropes and it started slowly drifting away from the Finnish coast in late summer 1984.
I can't rightly say what I was thinking. It was all a haze. The light of the summer morning was something of a shock to me after spending... many weeks... in darkness. I thought it was a dream, at first, especially after the man with the glasses brought the dog to me.
JSH: The little dog, Sharik?
FL: The same. He wagged his tail happily to see me. I felt like... Seeing an old friend. To think of it, the little dog was quite probably the only friend I had in the world, then. The Swedish volunteers had kept him when the Finnish soldiers took me, and then one of them had decided to give him back to me. I think it was the tall bearded man in the boat.
The youngish man with the glasses was my escort, my keeper. He showed me an official ID of sorts, but he wasn't in uniform - he was wearing a sweater, jeans and a long overcoat. He had a thinning, short-cropped hair, a plain, serious face and those round steel-rimmed glasses that gave him a strict look. I never caught his name. He had a partner, too, a greying man by the name of Karlsson.
It was Karlsson who told me what was happening when we sat in chairs along the ship's corridor, me holding the dog and him handing me a small stack of papers. We were bound for Sweden. I was officially a refugee now, under the protection of the Swedish state – provided I told them what they wanted to hear, of course. There would be ”debriefings”, like he said, and many people would want to talk to me. It was not that they believed I was a Soviet spy, oh no, but as such rumours had been mentioned in reports their superiors were getting, well, it had to be investigated. Otherwise, Karlsson told me, I was perfectly safe. Me and the dog. Mother Svea had accepted us to her bosom, he told me with a faint smile, and if we played by her rules she would be good to us, the stray dogs that we were.
”- Need I remind you”, Karlsson told me, ”this is a deal nobody else will offer you”.
Sitting snugly here on this white ship bound West to one of the few safe havens left in Europe I knew this man told me the truth.
During the war my duty was to the Soviet Union. I abandoned that duty when I deserted my unit with Pavel. And Pavel died with a hole in his stomach. Then my only duty was to myself - and to my rediscovered friend Sharik.
And so I took my documents from Karlsson and shook his hand. Solemnly, the dog looked us both in turn and I could swear he nodded to seal the deal.
JSH: It is always nice to hear more of your story, but what am I to glean from this? Are you telling me to forsake my duty for the truth for, what, comfort, security and a career?
FL: It is not exactly that. What I would want to remind you is that you need to choose your battles. Fighting the ones you are destined to lose gets you nowhere. You'll see this won't be the hardest spot they'll put you to, mark my words. And the rules or the goals of the game... They might not be exactly the ones you think you have learned.
(filler)
Last edited:
Is there love in the air?
Is it safe outside today?
Or have both Allah and God
Taken a leave together
I won't open the front door
There lurks the history of our future
And I won't peek under the rug
That is where they swept up all the world's innocence
But I can always pray...
Refrain:
So, let us listen to the Heaven, even if it wouldn't answer
God has fallen asleep or goes on with His creation
Maybe somewhere beyound space, where ever it might be
I'll get an answer when I die, but it surely is a long, long road
Is everything OK, USA?
Has it been suitably warlike over there?
Or is there love in the air?
You know it was invented in your Hollywood
Has the Devil got his due, when good has sold him its face
Or its mirror image...
Refrain:
So, let us listen to the Heaven, even if it wouldn't answer
God has fallen asleep or goes on with his creation
Maybe somewhere beyound space, where ever it might be
I'll get an answer when I die, but it is a long, long road
In a disposable life, a day recycles a day
I am begging more time from the night
The answers blow in the wind
…
Where are you hiding, God?
Are You inside me or outside?
Or behind everything?
Hector: Kuunnellaan vaan taivasta (2003)
LII: Matters of Faith, Part II
Interview nr. 24, 22.06.2007. NRK.
Subject: Man, 53 (M122)
Occupation in 1984: Cook
Location: [REDACTED], Southern FNA.
[The man is bearded, normal weight, with a scar running down his left cheek. He wears a blue overall and a military overcoat. He is a first lieutenant in the infantry. Continuing an interview from 18.6.2007. (See INT. 18)]
[You say you were in Mikkeli when they announced the coming of the peace?]
When you have events to commemorate a peace, you need food, right? And the men and women to make the soup happen, as it were.
So yes, I was there. From early morning we cleared the area for it, set up the kitchens, hauled crates of food, and started preparing it. We had a central spot – on the Hallitustori, almost beneath Mannerheim's gaze.[1]
The powers that be had made sure there was food in Mikkeli for the event. Even if just in Mikkeli, when it was very lean everywhere else. I saw containers of stuff there on that day I hadn't seen in months. I mean canned shrimp for the VIP's food? Really? Where in the hell did they get that?
[Subject stops for a moment, shaking his head.]
Well, I do know where they got it. Sweden. Of course for all I know it might have been the last of the pre-War shrimp left in the Nordic area, and sent there by mistake. Probably the Swedish Regent was chewing someone up right then for not managing a bloody shrimp coctail for him to celebrate the peace, what?
[Subject chuckles.]
[So they had the resources to put together a celebration for the peace treaty?]
”Celebration”, now, isn't really the word for it. It was, like I said, ”commemoration”, or more to the point, remembrance. There was little really festive about it. I hear they had even been unsure whether to fly the flags at half mast – in the end, they had opted for the more optimistic solution. And even if there necessarily were men in uniform, there was no parades or other military ceremonies - or even military marches. In this country, you are never far from hearing a military march. But on that day, they had fallen silent. I think it was the Acting that managed that – the top officers would have certainly wanted to hear a rousing march or two, no doubt about that.
It was something of a relief to me, to be there, and to see all the food. To be honest, we in the military provisions details had always eaten better than the rest of the folks, even through the winter. How much you ate yourself and how much you gave to the people eternally queing in front of you was a matter of personal choice. Some, like me, managed to maintain a healthy weight while the survivors wasted away, some even grew fatter. And some took it upon themselves to starve even while living their life among pots and pans of food. The Kitchen Saints. I can understand it, up to a point, but still it did strike me as a folly...
[Sir, I have a recording here from the Swedish State Archives. Maybe we could listen to it and after it I'll ask you to comment about it. All right?]
Sure, let's hear it.
[NRK puts a cassette into a deck, pushes the play button.]
”...at 94,6 Mhz. I am Pentti Fagerholm and this is the news. According to information we have received via Gothenburg, the treaty officially ending the Third World War was signed in Munich two days ago by representatives of some of the surviving NATO and Warsaw Pact governments as well as those of neutral nations. Consecutively, Finland is now at peace with both the East and the West. The Finnish government was represented in Munich by Ambassador Max Jakobson, who is due to return to Gothenburg with the Swedish delegation next week. According to a spokesman for the President's Office the national state of emergency is nevertheless...
[Any thoughts?]
That takes me back, it does. I did not remember Fagerholm being that official-sounding and collected when he said it – somehow I remember his voice cracking or something like that. It must be some other broadcast when that happened – maybe it was when the Acting... Well, no matter. To be honest, I've always preferred the younger Fagerholm [2] as a news voice. He doesn't have his father's discipline, but he is more... human somehow. Some say the news are a grave matter. Me, I say fuck it. I think we have had enough news about graves during my lifetime – for sure this damn nation could relax a little.
[The subject gives me a meaningful look.]
[When was the event in Mikkeli after the news broke? The peace was signed on August 10th, a Friday.]
It would have been some time in the next week, I gather. Perhaps it was only on the next weekend - it would have taken time to put it all together. We were called from Savonlinna specifically for it, like we didn't have a shitload of work without it, too.
[What was the mood on the square during the day?]
It was all over the place, I'd say. Smiles and tears both. I guess it had to do with what had happened to the people during the winter, what they had lost and what they had done. Been forced to do. Some people were miserable, dressed in nothing more than rags, basically. Others looked almost as well as before the war. It was confusing to see a beautiful woman in a red summer dress, with makeup and all, going past us looking healthy as you please, and then to look at the near starving, hollow-eyed men with clothes hanging on them, ones that waited in line for the stew or the pea soup. There was a group of little children, waving cardboard doves they had made, green ”olive branches” in their beaks. Some of the children smiled as they ate pancakes from our stall. Not all – some girls especially were very serious and correct. And the line they made in front of the stall was impeccable.
Some things bothered me about it all - like the Golden Piggies swaggering about, for example.
[The what?]
The Golden Piggies – the men who had gained prominent positions in the bureaucracy and the army due to the Emergency, and now used the sway they had to lord over us little people. Military officers were most prominent of them, like the ones that had something to do with the Battle of Porvoo. Of course most of them had been nowhere near the actual fighting, oh no, but even leading it from behind a desk entitled you to a decoration and extra privileges... You know that several of the men that now lead Finland made their mark during that ”great victory” and built their career on it? There are some in the Committee who have really no other merit to them. And knowing what I know about Porvoo – word gets around among the supply people – it is not much of a merit to begin with...
There was a feeling of relief around, though. I saw even the Acting just walking around with a very small escort – his aide-de-camp, I think, two civilian aides, and a couple of men with Civil Defence armbands. I don't know if they were really Military Police, though, just undercover you know. Leppänen went around like there was nothing to fear, shaking people's hands and thanking them for their work and support.
[Subject looks at me earnestly.]
It was damn brave of him, considering... Well, you know. Some could say downright suicidal. But you know most of the people liked and trusted him, and he had this awkward charm about him when he chatted with people... I guess it was the right thing to do, to try to get closer to the people like that.
He even nodded to me when he passed our stall. Seen from up close, he looked terrible. Those bags below his eyes... But he smiled to me nevertheless, in an absentminded way, like his mind was really somewhere else. Still dwelling on his speech, probably.
That was later in the day of course. First there was the official part...
Interview nr. 314, 22.06.2011. JEF.
Subject: Man, 49 (M177)
Occupation in 1984: Politician
Location: [REDACTED], Central FNA.
[Interview with a former FNA bureaucrat resumed.]
… a service in the Mikkeli Cathedral. Bishop Toiviainen conducted the service personally. The whole Emergency Cabinet was in attendance, as was much of the military leadership and local civilian leaders. Many others, too – the church was packed to the gills and it was impossible to sit down.
The morning was sunny, but chilly for mid-August. There was almost a fog in the air, ”that thin mist that surrounds the pastures” like the poet says. The mist gave it sort of an ethereal air, I remember the feeling was a little unreal when we filed out of the Cathedral and down the long stairs to continue on to the square.
Everyone in Mikkeli was there, it seemed. All the denizens of this glorified refugee camp of ours. Just to be there, just to see that some others are still alive, too. Even if it would be a pale, somehow reduced life in comparison to the times before the War. For me as well as many others, it seemed like the winter had washed away some of the colors from the world...
That day I remember in full technicolor, though.
There was an expectant feeling on the square as my boss begun his speech. It, like the church service would be broadcast on YLE to all those listening. And I do believe the attendance around the radios was very good.
We had spent hours perfecting the speech the night before with my boss, with Rinne and some others. Even Lipponen had offered his thoughts. When he actually spoke, I realized at some point I wasn't even listening, but rather observing the people on the square. They were very quiet, listening intently. Some of these children had these white cardboard birds they held in the air – it caught my eye. They, too, stood silently and listened in rapt attention.
An excerpt from the speech given by Acting President of Finland, Urpo Leppänen, in Mikkeli on August 17th, 1984. Recorded by the Swedish Radio Intelligence and held by the Swedish National Archives.
”...and so we stand here at the end point of the darkest chapter in our nation's history. That we stand here at all is proof that the Finnish people and nation live on, despite everything, despite the most devastating war in the history of the world and in the story of human civilization. We all have worked together through this dark winter and we will continue to work together, shoulder to shoulder in the days to come – for they will come, and that is how it should be. We have a long way to go, still, and I only hope that I can be worthy of your continued support and the trust you have placed on this government. All of us placed in positions of responsibility hope for that and will continue to strive to make things better for everyone in this country...
...This is not a celebration. We have gathered here today to remember those that we have lost. Everyone of us has lost someone. Our family, neighbours, friends and colleagues taken away by the War, those that perished in the blinding light of nuclear war and the deep darkness of the winter. We should remember them in happiness – the happiness they gave us when they still were among us and the happiness we gave them. We should remember them in sadness – for the empty places they have left in our hearts and our lives, for the lives cut short ahead of time, for plans and goals never to be realized. And we should remember them with love, the love we bore for them and the love they felt for us. The love for life and the hope for a better day.
Above all, we should remember.”
Interview nr. 314, 22.06.2011. JEF.
Subject: Man, 49 (M177)
Occupation in 1984: Politician
Location: [REDACTED], Central FNA.
[Interview with a former FNA bureaucrat resumed.]
The speech was a success. Suitably mournful, suitably light, and hopeful to boot. I take some pride in it still. It gave the people who heard it the possibility to make up their own minds, not jamming ideas down their throats. I think... Well, I think it might have helped people to... believe.
Be it as it may, some people wept already at the end of it – I think the music that followed it did not make things easier for those present to keep their eyes dry.
[What was it?]
They had put together a choir with male singers and children, too. It was the ones with the white birds. And they started with Niin kaunis on maa...[3]
”The sun is rising,
There's dew on the grass
It is time to wake up,
Get out and leave,
To meet a beloved friend
Chorus:
So beautiful is the earth
So high is heaven
The songs of the birds ring in the meadows in bloom
And the shadowed waters
So shadowed waters
The day is bright,
The wind blows in the woods,
It is a time for play,
And laughter and joy
With a beloved friend
Chorus:
So beautiful is the earth
So high is heaven
The songs of the birds ring in the meadows in bloom
And the shadowed waters
So shadowed waters
The sun is setting,
The shadows grow longer,
It is time for parting and farewell
Gone is the beloved friend
Chorus:
So beautiful is the earth
So high is heaven
The songs of the birds ring in the meadows in bloom
And the shadowed waters
So shadowed waters”
[The subject stays quiet for a good while.]
There was a deep silence on the square following it – and then they went on with the Finlandia hymn. At that point, I believe I might have been weeping, too...
”O, Finland, behold, your day is dawning,
The threat of night has been banished away,
And the lark of morning in the brightness sings,
As though the very firmament would ring.
The powers of the night are vanquished by the morning light,
Your day is dawning, O land of birth.
O, rise, Finland, raise up high
Your head, wreathed with great memories.
O, rise, Finland, you showed to the world
That you drove away the slavery,
And that you did not bend under oppression,
Your day has come, O land of birth”
An excerpt from the private diary of Jan Holmén, Minne 1984 Project Secretary.
Dated June 2013
"It was about wrapping things up. I went around Mikkeli making some last interviews and settling matters that were still open, some source references needed checking and there were papers to be signed. In some days I would be leaving Finland to go to Uppsala and to start with the writing and editing process in earnest. There were many people I had come to know in Mikkeli and other places in Finland, beginning with the sarcastic older woman who came to clean my quarters at the house the Project had rented, all the way to the people like Mr. Soini, the former FNA bureaucrat, or Colonel Vartia, the SIO information officer, those people I had interviewed in depth during the project.
There was a lot of packing to be done, various crates of papers and different items in boxes that would be sent via train to Rauma and then shipped back to Sweden. A small party had been put together among project personnel, and I had to give a speech there. In the end, the guys had picked me up and thrown me to a lake – it must have been a Finnish custom they had picked up. I was glad we went to the sauna afterwards and so I had dry clothes handy.
At about five in the afternoon the next day I made my excuses, fired up the Volvo and took the usual road to the cabin. We had agreed to see one last time with the Colonel, for a final interview about late summer 1984. As I drove along the pothole-ridden roads towards the place by the lake, the land around me was getting ready for a party – Juhannus, the Midsummer Festival, would be in a couple of days. After the War it has been a major national holiday in Finland – even moreso than before 1984 as many of the pagan elements have been rekindled and apart from being just a secular holiday dedicated to heavy drinking it now has a deeper meaning to lot of the people in both the FNA and the PPO. In Sweden the Midsummer has many of the same connotations, so I can well understand.
After going carefully around an old tractor hauling a trailer filled with entire yound birches, limbs and leaves and all - the traditional Juhannus decoration – I took the winding gravel road to the old summer cabin me and the Colonel had used for many of our secret interviews.
Today the man from the State Information Office was in high spirits. He was waiting for me on the yard and shook my hand firmly, leading me into the cabin.
” - It is not that I am happy that you are leaving, Holmén, you and your guys and gals too, but to be perfectly honest it will make life so much easier for me. No skulking around in secrecy, not officially fighting with you over old documents, and all this with the Committee breathing down my neck.”
He took out a bottle of clear liquid and poured us shots.
” - Some Koskenkorva. Hölökynkölökyn![4]”
We downed the drinks. It seems Vartia was well on the way towards getting ready for for Juhannus.
” - Not that the Committee wouldn't breathe down my neck on a daily basis, of course. But at least there is now one reason less for that.”
He smiled congenially, taking off his square glasses and wiping them off with his shirtsleeve.
" - You are an all right guy, Holmén, you know that? I mean I was very sceptical of you and these interviews. Even when my wife went to your Project people, I demanded her to wear old clothes and broken glasses as a camouflage, and to avoid answers that would could be used to identify me..."
The Colonel shook his head.
" - Now, I wish you luck with the writing and all - I am interested to read what you publish - provided it can be had in Finnish, too."
I promised him I would do my best to make that happen.
” - But you wanted to hear about the time the War ended, right? Let's get to that, then. But first – I am being a poor host.”
He went out of the cabin to get some beers he had cooling in the lake. In minutes he was back, holding up the bottles and smiling broadly.
I took out my recorder and switched it on. Nodded to the Colonel.
” - Right, so there was this thing at the square in Mikkeli. There were speeches, and there was music. All the leaders of the nation were there, such as they were. I think it went off without a hitch. The war had officially ended that week, and for a long time it seemed things were getting... well, at least not worse anymore.
I was feeling rather good for myself then, if I remember correctly. Dressed in a crisp dress uniform, with the decoration I got for Porvoo pinned on my chest, my belly full of meat stew and pancakes, taking the measure of the square with a few other junior officers from the Air Force.”
He smiles and shakes his head.
” - I probably was a bit cocky – I can remember that the guy from Supply running the food stands gave me a dirty look when we passed by – but what the hell. It was peace. I was alive, and my burn wounds had started to heal. Now if we could have gotten our hands on some booze, well, look out Mikkeli!
And my confidence was not misplaced, as it turns out. In the hubbub of the square, I suddenly came head to head with the Acting President and his entourage. To be honest I almost bumped into him by accident. A Civil Defence guy pulled me away with a vise-like grip, but I probably looked honest and harmless, my martial appearance nothwithstanding, and the Acting waved his security away and shook my hand.
” - So, you were in Porvoo, right?”, he said, seeing the decoration on my chest, ”I'd like to offer my personal thanks to you for your service, Second Lieutenant!"
He looked at me carefully.
" - You were not among the ones I decorated here personally, eh?”
I told him I had been wounded and how the tall Captain had brought me the medal. As he listened to me and nodded, not going anywhere, I told him about Porvoo and the aftermath. It was cheeky of me – I used the kind of language they were employing on the radio those days, ironically. I could swear, this day, that he smiled to my ”report” as it were."
We opened the beers, Olvi as before. It suited me much better than the glorified aircraft fuel he had offered me at first.
”- Why am I telling you this, you might ask. To boast with a connection to the deified Acting President? Well, partly.”
He took a good swig from the bottle.
” - But there is more to that. After I stopped talking, the Acting called a young aide to us and smiled to me. It looked like he had had An Idea.”
” - Timo, he said to the aide, get this Second Lieutenant's contact information. I have decided to recommend him for the State Information Office, if it pleases the Defence Forces.”
” - The aide looked at me squarely, and started scribbling in a notepad he pulled out from his pocket.
The Acting turned to me.”
” -They are putting together an official information service for the government. With our brief acquintance I hazard to say it needs people like you – young, eager and with a head on their shoulders. You have higher secondary education, don't you?”
” - Yes, Mister President. I am a Civil Engineer, but...”
” - An engineer? Down to earth, and precise? You'll complement the Arts types splendidly. It is settled, then. My young aide will get your information, you'll be hearing from us in no time.”
The Colonel spread his hands, the beer bottle in one of them.
” - And that is how I ended up at the State Information Office. It was not what I seeked, but I after I was officially reassigned, I had to make do.”
” - I still don't know if it was the Acting's idea of a joke. Or maybe he could really spot talent through a single conversation. Nevertheless, there I was. Two weeks hence, I moved to the new SIO quarters in the old garrison area in central Mikkeli, and there I was working when me and Saana started seeing each other in the winter. We married in the spring of 1985, and our oldest son, Joni, was born in October. He will soon turn 28.”
The Colonel stared quietly into the distance, seemingly over the lake through the small window. As I glanced at the elk's head on the wall, the light from the lake caught its glass eye making it seem like it was winking at us.
” - Three decades. Think about that. It has been a long road, and that is just how it is. Life goes on...”
Right then there was the knock on the door. A courteous, restrained knock.
A sinking feeling took over my stomach. Who the hell, I was furiously thinking. Nobody was supposed to know we were here.
The Colonel put down the bottle, took a few steps to the writing desk and picked up a pistol.
Now the knock on the door was louder. Demanding.
” - Holmén, Colonel! We know you are there! Just open the door and nobody gets hurt.”
I had heard the voice before.
...
If we don't have a story
We only see this room
If we don't have a story
Everything flows away
And then one morning
Nobody loves nothing
Doesn't hear the talk of the winds
The melancholic whisper of the trees
We were tricked into a game
Where we can only lose
Refrain:
And life goes on, without end like the rain
And life goes on, without end like the rain
Too great to end
Too heavy to go on
If we don't have the faith
That lifts us to the great work
For those miracles
We madly believe in
On one morning
You don't long for anything
you don't look at the brightness
You can't recognize the face of a man
Refrain:
And life goes on, without end like the rain
And life goes on, without end like the rain
Too great to end
Too heavy to go on
CMX: Jatkuu niin kuin sade (2000)
Notes:
[1] Hallitustori (Government Square) is the main square and marketplace in Mikkeli since before the War. The subject refers to the Mannerheim Statue standing on the western side of the square in front of the buildings occupied by the FNA Ministry of the Interior. The statue was erected in commemoration of Mikkeli as the location of Marshal C.G.E. Mannerheim's headquarters during WWII.
[2] Matti Fagerholm, a musician and radio journalist who since 1990 has been the main newscaster in YLE Radio. Also known for his brief pre-War career in the rock band Hanoi Rocks.
[3] A song written in 1971 by Kari Rydman, a Finnish music teacher and composer, in the memory of a student of his, a young girl who died in a car accident.
[4] A jocular Savonian toast, untranslatable.
Is it safe outside today?
Or have both Allah and God
Taken a leave together
I won't open the front door
There lurks the history of our future
And I won't peek under the rug
That is where they swept up all the world's innocence
But I can always pray...
Refrain:
So, let us listen to the Heaven, even if it wouldn't answer
God has fallen asleep or goes on with His creation
Maybe somewhere beyound space, where ever it might be
I'll get an answer when I die, but it surely is a long, long road
Is everything OK, USA?
Has it been suitably warlike over there?
Or is there love in the air?
You know it was invented in your Hollywood
Has the Devil got his due, when good has sold him its face
Or its mirror image...
Refrain:
So, let us listen to the Heaven, even if it wouldn't answer
God has fallen asleep or goes on with his creation
Maybe somewhere beyound space, where ever it might be
I'll get an answer when I die, but it is a long, long road
In a disposable life, a day recycles a day
I am begging more time from the night
The answers blow in the wind
…
Where are you hiding, God?
Are You inside me or outside?
Or behind everything?
Hector: Kuunnellaan vaan taivasta (2003)
LII: Matters of Faith, Part II
Interview nr. 24, 22.06.2007. NRK.
Subject: Man, 53 (M122)
Occupation in 1984: Cook
Location: [REDACTED], Southern FNA.
[The man is bearded, normal weight, with a scar running down his left cheek. He wears a blue overall and a military overcoat. He is a first lieutenant in the infantry. Continuing an interview from 18.6.2007. (See INT. 18)]
[You say you were in Mikkeli when they announced the coming of the peace?]
When you have events to commemorate a peace, you need food, right? And the men and women to make the soup happen, as it were.
So yes, I was there. From early morning we cleared the area for it, set up the kitchens, hauled crates of food, and started preparing it. We had a central spot – on the Hallitustori, almost beneath Mannerheim's gaze.[1]
The powers that be had made sure there was food in Mikkeli for the event. Even if just in Mikkeli, when it was very lean everywhere else. I saw containers of stuff there on that day I hadn't seen in months. I mean canned shrimp for the VIP's food? Really? Where in the hell did they get that?
[Subject stops for a moment, shaking his head.]
Well, I do know where they got it. Sweden. Of course for all I know it might have been the last of the pre-War shrimp left in the Nordic area, and sent there by mistake. Probably the Swedish Regent was chewing someone up right then for not managing a bloody shrimp coctail for him to celebrate the peace, what?
[Subject chuckles.]
[So they had the resources to put together a celebration for the peace treaty?]
”Celebration”, now, isn't really the word for it. It was, like I said, ”commemoration”, or more to the point, remembrance. There was little really festive about it. I hear they had even been unsure whether to fly the flags at half mast – in the end, they had opted for the more optimistic solution. And even if there necessarily were men in uniform, there was no parades or other military ceremonies - or even military marches. In this country, you are never far from hearing a military march. But on that day, they had fallen silent. I think it was the Acting that managed that – the top officers would have certainly wanted to hear a rousing march or two, no doubt about that.
It was something of a relief to me, to be there, and to see all the food. To be honest, we in the military provisions details had always eaten better than the rest of the folks, even through the winter. How much you ate yourself and how much you gave to the people eternally queing in front of you was a matter of personal choice. Some, like me, managed to maintain a healthy weight while the survivors wasted away, some even grew fatter. And some took it upon themselves to starve even while living their life among pots and pans of food. The Kitchen Saints. I can understand it, up to a point, but still it did strike me as a folly...
[Sir, I have a recording here from the Swedish State Archives. Maybe we could listen to it and after it I'll ask you to comment about it. All right?]
Sure, let's hear it.
[NRK puts a cassette into a deck, pushes the play button.]
”...at 94,6 Mhz. I am Pentti Fagerholm and this is the news. According to information we have received via Gothenburg, the treaty officially ending the Third World War was signed in Munich two days ago by representatives of some of the surviving NATO and Warsaw Pact governments as well as those of neutral nations. Consecutively, Finland is now at peace with both the East and the West. The Finnish government was represented in Munich by Ambassador Max Jakobson, who is due to return to Gothenburg with the Swedish delegation next week. According to a spokesman for the President's Office the national state of emergency is nevertheless...
[Any thoughts?]
That takes me back, it does. I did not remember Fagerholm being that official-sounding and collected when he said it – somehow I remember his voice cracking or something like that. It must be some other broadcast when that happened – maybe it was when the Acting... Well, no matter. To be honest, I've always preferred the younger Fagerholm [2] as a news voice. He doesn't have his father's discipline, but he is more... human somehow. Some say the news are a grave matter. Me, I say fuck it. I think we have had enough news about graves during my lifetime – for sure this damn nation could relax a little.
[The subject gives me a meaningful look.]
[When was the event in Mikkeli after the news broke? The peace was signed on August 10th, a Friday.]
It would have been some time in the next week, I gather. Perhaps it was only on the next weekend - it would have taken time to put it all together. We were called from Savonlinna specifically for it, like we didn't have a shitload of work without it, too.
[What was the mood on the square during the day?]
It was all over the place, I'd say. Smiles and tears both. I guess it had to do with what had happened to the people during the winter, what they had lost and what they had done. Been forced to do. Some people were miserable, dressed in nothing more than rags, basically. Others looked almost as well as before the war. It was confusing to see a beautiful woman in a red summer dress, with makeup and all, going past us looking healthy as you please, and then to look at the near starving, hollow-eyed men with clothes hanging on them, ones that waited in line for the stew or the pea soup. There was a group of little children, waving cardboard doves they had made, green ”olive branches” in their beaks. Some of the children smiled as they ate pancakes from our stall. Not all – some girls especially were very serious and correct. And the line they made in front of the stall was impeccable.
Some things bothered me about it all - like the Golden Piggies swaggering about, for example.
[The what?]
The Golden Piggies – the men who had gained prominent positions in the bureaucracy and the army due to the Emergency, and now used the sway they had to lord over us little people. Military officers were most prominent of them, like the ones that had something to do with the Battle of Porvoo. Of course most of them had been nowhere near the actual fighting, oh no, but even leading it from behind a desk entitled you to a decoration and extra privileges... You know that several of the men that now lead Finland made their mark during that ”great victory” and built their career on it? There are some in the Committee who have really no other merit to them. And knowing what I know about Porvoo – word gets around among the supply people – it is not much of a merit to begin with...
There was a feeling of relief around, though. I saw even the Acting just walking around with a very small escort – his aide-de-camp, I think, two civilian aides, and a couple of men with Civil Defence armbands. I don't know if they were really Military Police, though, just undercover you know. Leppänen went around like there was nothing to fear, shaking people's hands and thanking them for their work and support.
[Subject looks at me earnestly.]
It was damn brave of him, considering... Well, you know. Some could say downright suicidal. But you know most of the people liked and trusted him, and he had this awkward charm about him when he chatted with people... I guess it was the right thing to do, to try to get closer to the people like that.
He even nodded to me when he passed our stall. Seen from up close, he looked terrible. Those bags below his eyes... But he smiled to me nevertheless, in an absentminded way, like his mind was really somewhere else. Still dwelling on his speech, probably.
That was later in the day of course. First there was the official part...
Interview nr. 314, 22.06.2011. JEF.
Subject: Man, 49 (M177)
Occupation in 1984: Politician
Location: [REDACTED], Central FNA.
[Interview with a former FNA bureaucrat resumed.]
… a service in the Mikkeli Cathedral. Bishop Toiviainen conducted the service personally. The whole Emergency Cabinet was in attendance, as was much of the military leadership and local civilian leaders. Many others, too – the church was packed to the gills and it was impossible to sit down.
The morning was sunny, but chilly for mid-August. There was almost a fog in the air, ”that thin mist that surrounds the pastures” like the poet says. The mist gave it sort of an ethereal air, I remember the feeling was a little unreal when we filed out of the Cathedral and down the long stairs to continue on to the square.
Everyone in Mikkeli was there, it seemed. All the denizens of this glorified refugee camp of ours. Just to be there, just to see that some others are still alive, too. Even if it would be a pale, somehow reduced life in comparison to the times before the War. For me as well as many others, it seemed like the winter had washed away some of the colors from the world...
That day I remember in full technicolor, though.
There was an expectant feeling on the square as my boss begun his speech. It, like the church service would be broadcast on YLE to all those listening. And I do believe the attendance around the radios was very good.
We had spent hours perfecting the speech the night before with my boss, with Rinne and some others. Even Lipponen had offered his thoughts. When he actually spoke, I realized at some point I wasn't even listening, but rather observing the people on the square. They were very quiet, listening intently. Some of these children had these white cardboard birds they held in the air – it caught my eye. They, too, stood silently and listened in rapt attention.
An excerpt from the speech given by Acting President of Finland, Urpo Leppänen, in Mikkeli on August 17th, 1984. Recorded by the Swedish Radio Intelligence and held by the Swedish National Archives.
”...and so we stand here at the end point of the darkest chapter in our nation's history. That we stand here at all is proof that the Finnish people and nation live on, despite everything, despite the most devastating war in the history of the world and in the story of human civilization. We all have worked together through this dark winter and we will continue to work together, shoulder to shoulder in the days to come – for they will come, and that is how it should be. We have a long way to go, still, and I only hope that I can be worthy of your continued support and the trust you have placed on this government. All of us placed in positions of responsibility hope for that and will continue to strive to make things better for everyone in this country...
...This is not a celebration. We have gathered here today to remember those that we have lost. Everyone of us has lost someone. Our family, neighbours, friends and colleagues taken away by the War, those that perished in the blinding light of nuclear war and the deep darkness of the winter. We should remember them in happiness – the happiness they gave us when they still were among us and the happiness we gave them. We should remember them in sadness – for the empty places they have left in our hearts and our lives, for the lives cut short ahead of time, for plans and goals never to be realized. And we should remember them with love, the love we bore for them and the love they felt for us. The love for life and the hope for a better day.
Above all, we should remember.”
Interview nr. 314, 22.06.2011. JEF.
Subject: Man, 49 (M177)
Occupation in 1984: Politician
Location: [REDACTED], Central FNA.
[Interview with a former FNA bureaucrat resumed.]
The speech was a success. Suitably mournful, suitably light, and hopeful to boot. I take some pride in it still. It gave the people who heard it the possibility to make up their own minds, not jamming ideas down their throats. I think... Well, I think it might have helped people to... believe.
Be it as it may, some people wept already at the end of it – I think the music that followed it did not make things easier for those present to keep their eyes dry.
[What was it?]
They had put together a choir with male singers and children, too. It was the ones with the white birds. And they started with Niin kaunis on maa...[3]
”The sun is rising,
There's dew on the grass
It is time to wake up,
Get out and leave,
To meet a beloved friend
Chorus:
So beautiful is the earth
So high is heaven
The songs of the birds ring in the meadows in bloom
And the shadowed waters
So shadowed waters
The day is bright,
The wind blows in the woods,
It is a time for play,
And laughter and joy
With a beloved friend
Chorus:
So beautiful is the earth
So high is heaven
The songs of the birds ring in the meadows in bloom
And the shadowed waters
So shadowed waters
The sun is setting,
The shadows grow longer,
It is time for parting and farewell
Gone is the beloved friend
Chorus:
So beautiful is the earth
So high is heaven
The songs of the birds ring in the meadows in bloom
And the shadowed waters
So shadowed waters”
[The subject stays quiet for a good while.]
There was a deep silence on the square following it – and then they went on with the Finlandia hymn. At that point, I believe I might have been weeping, too...
”O, Finland, behold, your day is dawning,
The threat of night has been banished away,
And the lark of morning in the brightness sings,
As though the very firmament would ring.
The powers of the night are vanquished by the morning light,
Your day is dawning, O land of birth.
O, rise, Finland, raise up high
Your head, wreathed with great memories.
O, rise, Finland, you showed to the world
That you drove away the slavery,
And that you did not bend under oppression,
Your day has come, O land of birth”
An excerpt from the private diary of Jan Holmén, Minne 1984 Project Secretary.
Dated June 2013
"It was about wrapping things up. I went around Mikkeli making some last interviews and settling matters that were still open, some source references needed checking and there were papers to be signed. In some days I would be leaving Finland to go to Uppsala and to start with the writing and editing process in earnest. There were many people I had come to know in Mikkeli and other places in Finland, beginning with the sarcastic older woman who came to clean my quarters at the house the Project had rented, all the way to the people like Mr. Soini, the former FNA bureaucrat, or Colonel Vartia, the SIO information officer, those people I had interviewed in depth during the project.
There was a lot of packing to be done, various crates of papers and different items in boxes that would be sent via train to Rauma and then shipped back to Sweden. A small party had been put together among project personnel, and I had to give a speech there. In the end, the guys had picked me up and thrown me to a lake – it must have been a Finnish custom they had picked up. I was glad we went to the sauna afterwards and so I had dry clothes handy.
At about five in the afternoon the next day I made my excuses, fired up the Volvo and took the usual road to the cabin. We had agreed to see one last time with the Colonel, for a final interview about late summer 1984. As I drove along the pothole-ridden roads towards the place by the lake, the land around me was getting ready for a party – Juhannus, the Midsummer Festival, would be in a couple of days. After the War it has been a major national holiday in Finland – even moreso than before 1984 as many of the pagan elements have been rekindled and apart from being just a secular holiday dedicated to heavy drinking it now has a deeper meaning to lot of the people in both the FNA and the PPO. In Sweden the Midsummer has many of the same connotations, so I can well understand.
After going carefully around an old tractor hauling a trailer filled with entire yound birches, limbs and leaves and all - the traditional Juhannus decoration – I took the winding gravel road to the old summer cabin me and the Colonel had used for many of our secret interviews.
Today the man from the State Information Office was in high spirits. He was waiting for me on the yard and shook my hand firmly, leading me into the cabin.
” - It is not that I am happy that you are leaving, Holmén, you and your guys and gals too, but to be perfectly honest it will make life so much easier for me. No skulking around in secrecy, not officially fighting with you over old documents, and all this with the Committee breathing down my neck.”
He took out a bottle of clear liquid and poured us shots.
” - Some Koskenkorva. Hölökynkölökyn![4]”
We downed the drinks. It seems Vartia was well on the way towards getting ready for for Juhannus.
” - Not that the Committee wouldn't breathe down my neck on a daily basis, of course. But at least there is now one reason less for that.”
He smiled congenially, taking off his square glasses and wiping them off with his shirtsleeve.
" - You are an all right guy, Holmén, you know that? I mean I was very sceptical of you and these interviews. Even when my wife went to your Project people, I demanded her to wear old clothes and broken glasses as a camouflage, and to avoid answers that would could be used to identify me..."
The Colonel shook his head.
" - Now, I wish you luck with the writing and all - I am interested to read what you publish - provided it can be had in Finnish, too."
I promised him I would do my best to make that happen.
” - But you wanted to hear about the time the War ended, right? Let's get to that, then. But first – I am being a poor host.”
He went out of the cabin to get some beers he had cooling in the lake. In minutes he was back, holding up the bottles and smiling broadly.
I took out my recorder and switched it on. Nodded to the Colonel.
” - Right, so there was this thing at the square in Mikkeli. There were speeches, and there was music. All the leaders of the nation were there, such as they were. I think it went off without a hitch. The war had officially ended that week, and for a long time it seemed things were getting... well, at least not worse anymore.
I was feeling rather good for myself then, if I remember correctly. Dressed in a crisp dress uniform, with the decoration I got for Porvoo pinned on my chest, my belly full of meat stew and pancakes, taking the measure of the square with a few other junior officers from the Air Force.”
He smiles and shakes his head.
” - I probably was a bit cocky – I can remember that the guy from Supply running the food stands gave me a dirty look when we passed by – but what the hell. It was peace. I was alive, and my burn wounds had started to heal. Now if we could have gotten our hands on some booze, well, look out Mikkeli!
And my confidence was not misplaced, as it turns out. In the hubbub of the square, I suddenly came head to head with the Acting President and his entourage. To be honest I almost bumped into him by accident. A Civil Defence guy pulled me away with a vise-like grip, but I probably looked honest and harmless, my martial appearance nothwithstanding, and the Acting waved his security away and shook my hand.
” - So, you were in Porvoo, right?”, he said, seeing the decoration on my chest, ”I'd like to offer my personal thanks to you for your service, Second Lieutenant!"
He looked at me carefully.
" - You were not among the ones I decorated here personally, eh?”
I told him I had been wounded and how the tall Captain had brought me the medal. As he listened to me and nodded, not going anywhere, I told him about Porvoo and the aftermath. It was cheeky of me – I used the kind of language they were employing on the radio those days, ironically. I could swear, this day, that he smiled to my ”report” as it were."
We opened the beers, Olvi as before. It suited me much better than the glorified aircraft fuel he had offered me at first.
”- Why am I telling you this, you might ask. To boast with a connection to the deified Acting President? Well, partly.”
He took a good swig from the bottle.
” - But there is more to that. After I stopped talking, the Acting called a young aide to us and smiled to me. It looked like he had had An Idea.”
” - Timo, he said to the aide, get this Second Lieutenant's contact information. I have decided to recommend him for the State Information Office, if it pleases the Defence Forces.”
” - The aide looked at me squarely, and started scribbling in a notepad he pulled out from his pocket.
The Acting turned to me.”
” -They are putting together an official information service for the government. With our brief acquintance I hazard to say it needs people like you – young, eager and with a head on their shoulders. You have higher secondary education, don't you?”
” - Yes, Mister President. I am a Civil Engineer, but...”
” - An engineer? Down to earth, and precise? You'll complement the Arts types splendidly. It is settled, then. My young aide will get your information, you'll be hearing from us in no time.”
The Colonel spread his hands, the beer bottle in one of them.
” - And that is how I ended up at the State Information Office. It was not what I seeked, but I after I was officially reassigned, I had to make do.”
” - I still don't know if it was the Acting's idea of a joke. Or maybe he could really spot talent through a single conversation. Nevertheless, there I was. Two weeks hence, I moved to the new SIO quarters in the old garrison area in central Mikkeli, and there I was working when me and Saana started seeing each other in the winter. We married in the spring of 1985, and our oldest son, Joni, was born in October. He will soon turn 28.”
The Colonel stared quietly into the distance, seemingly over the lake through the small window. As I glanced at the elk's head on the wall, the light from the lake caught its glass eye making it seem like it was winking at us.
” - Three decades. Think about that. It has been a long road, and that is just how it is. Life goes on...”
Right then there was the knock on the door. A courteous, restrained knock.
A sinking feeling took over my stomach. Who the hell, I was furiously thinking. Nobody was supposed to know we were here.
The Colonel put down the bottle, took a few steps to the writing desk and picked up a pistol.
Now the knock on the door was louder. Demanding.
” - Holmén, Colonel! We know you are there! Just open the door and nobody gets hurt.”
I had heard the voice before.
...
If we don't have a story
We only see this room
If we don't have a story
Everything flows away
And then one morning
Nobody loves nothing
Doesn't hear the talk of the winds
The melancholic whisper of the trees
We were tricked into a game
Where we can only lose
Refrain:
And life goes on, without end like the rain
And life goes on, without end like the rain
Too great to end
Too heavy to go on
If we don't have the faith
That lifts us to the great work
For those miracles
We madly believe in
On one morning
You don't long for anything
you don't look at the brightness
You can't recognize the face of a man
Refrain:
And life goes on, without end like the rain
And life goes on, without end like the rain
Too great to end
Too heavy to go on
CMX: Jatkuu niin kuin sade (2000)
Notes:
[1] Hallitustori (Government Square) is the main square and marketplace in Mikkeli since before the War. The subject refers to the Mannerheim Statue standing on the western side of the square in front of the buildings occupied by the FNA Ministry of the Interior. The statue was erected in commemoration of Mikkeli as the location of Marshal C.G.E. Mannerheim's headquarters during WWII.
[2] Matti Fagerholm, a musician and radio journalist who since 1990 has been the main newscaster in YLE Radio. Also known for his brief pre-War career in the rock band Hanoi Rocks.
[3] A song written in 1971 by Kari Rydman, a Finnish music teacher and composer, in the memory of a student of his, a young girl who died in a car accident.
[4] A jocular Savonian toast, untranslatable.
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That, my inquisitive friend, will be revealed in the epilogue chapters. So stay tuned.
(I know, naughty of me. But it is matter more for "the present" than "1984", so it will be only explained later. Or at least that is my excuse.)
Feel glad that Fedya survived.
Can't remember if I asked, are there regular elections in Sweden?
Hope to see a continuation!
There have been more-or-less regular elections in Sweden since the 90s. The Social Democrats usually win heavily, though, so most often they don't offer much in the way of change.
Well, yes, it would be logical to charge him with treason under the circumstances...
Karelian said:
Maybe I did something right, then.
I hoped it wouldn't be too much with the sentimental music and all - this update has after all the biggest number of of pieces of music in it so far. Admittedly a bit clichéd, in all, but then I have not shied away from clichés in the TL before when they suited the mood, so here we are. I also thought that it would be appropriate to end it on a CMX song given the the whole TL was started by one.The Land of Sad Songs
Epilogue
A helicopter flies high above the ground. It looks old and well worn, but has been recently painted white with a large red cross on the side. Below, to all directions, you can see forests and lakes, covered in snow. The sun can be faintly seen from behind a veil of grey clouds, and in places small rays of light shine through tiny gaps in the cloud cover.
As the helicopter slowly moves forward, the forests and lakes seem to go on forever. Here and there, you can see black areas below the snow, wide swathes of blackness and ruins where it seems nothing will grow even in summer.
[Suddenly, you see black and white pictures, following each other, a series of bichromatic flashes -]
[A pale sun rises from a mist on a burned city, illuminating the light green weeds and thin tree saplings growing from the cracked black concrete.]
[A haggard-looking hunter standing next to a wrecked hull of an armoured vehicle smiles and brandishes his catch – a bloodied grey wolf.]
[Three women in raincoats and rubber boots, digging a frozen field with shovels.]
[Men in uniform and civilian garb carrying various tools standing next to a half-built house.]
”And so life went on. Autumn followed summer and winter followed autumn. The winter of 1984-85 was long, cold and dark. The people in the land saw sickness and hunger, despair and death. They huddled together in their homes and lodgings, in barracks and makeshift camps, and prayed to God – an indifferent God, it seemed, a jealous and cruel God.
[A congregation singing hymns in a church, a shaft of light from the stained glass window enveloping the pastor before them.]
And still the people lived on and they loved each other, finding warmth and comfort around them. And still children were being born – even if so few of them would see adulthood – and they were cherished by their parents and grandparents.
[A man in a tattered uniform looks proudly into the camera, holding a crying baby swaddled in old clothes.]
And eventually a new summer would come, and then another, a warmer, longer summer – slowly, ever so slowly, life was becoming a little better, a little lighter.
[A line of people under the summer sun, queuing for food from a steaming field kitchen.]
The people had a leader. The Acting President, a man with compassion, a man with a mission. A man who would talk to the people through the radio and promise them a better life, a brighter future. At night the people listened to his voice, to this man who had become a symbol, and then before they went to sleep the people prayed.
[A line of flag poles, flags with Nordic crosses on them at half mast.]
But then one day the Acting President died, to sickness it was said, to exhaustion and sorrow, many believed. The people mourned. And some thought there would be elections, and a new President. Like the trusted, tired man had promised.
The crowds of mourning people turned to demonstrations. And the demonstrations were broken up by the Military Police.
[A coffin draped in the Finnish state flag, carried by hollow-cheeked soldiers with grey, plain uniforms and stern eyes.]
And the Committee took over, promising food, medicine, order and stability, promising to protect the people and to look after the children, to bring back democracy but only when it would be safe enough to do it.
[A man in the uniform of a general officer speaking on a microphone, his hands clutching the sides of the podium in front of him.]
It would never be safe enough.
It was a new world, a world with different priorities, a harsher world, rougher around the edges. The children that grew up in it learned to respect their elders, to accept their discipline and to understand the value of hard work.
Work was the only thing there was no shortage of.
The children learned to pray and they learned to accept what they got – lest they get nothing at all. This was the world they had earned, they thought, this was how it should be. How it would always be. Great sorrows, small confines, little joys.”
[Children in dirty clothes playing football on a muddy field before a grey industrial building with empty holes for windows.]
As the helicopter flies along, slowly, the forests and lakes below have changed to snow-covered fields, in places, and a few small houses here and there. Three crows fly by, and then dive towards the ground. The helicopter starts turning left in a wide arc.
”And the years went by, and the flow of history itself seemed to pause, to get stuck like a broken record.
[Young girls in military-style uniforms walking past a man driving a horse-drawn carriage.]
But still, slowly, the children that had survived grew up, to shoulder the responsibilities of adults.
To look after their elders, to raise a new generation themselves.
To inherit the land.”
Now you are sitting inside the helicopter. The pilot beside you taps you on your shoulder and hands you a set of headphones. You put them on your ears.
The pilot is turning the dials on the radio.
There is static in the headphones... And then, after a while, the radio picks up a signal. It is soft, mournful music, slowly drifting out from the static.
Looking out, you see the helicopter is starting to make a descent into a modest-looking town, all white, grey and black, surrounded by lakes, forests and fields.
”And now, after three decades – now history is starting to move again.”
Stay tuned for the continuation of the epilogue in
E1: The Kingdom of Beggars
(filler)
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An excellent end, will certainly miss this. My impression from the story is that even by P&S standards Finland had it bad and took longer than some of the other countries hit to recover to anything like pre-war standards.
Good epilogue, DrakonFin!
[snip]
I fear proper recovery for Finland is still a few decades ahead, Jan.
Thank you, guys!
Bear in mind, though, that there will still be a few additional chapters to the epilogue. No way I am letting you off this easy... Some aspects of the recovery might even be addressed shortly.
I threw a small stone into water
And it shattered my image
There was a child on the other side
Who followed me
The stones would not fit
Into the pockets of his trousers
And his small knees
Were bloody with scratches
That boy gestured at me
With a piece of pine bark in his hand
He wanted to send it across the troubled waters
That message which was sent
Never would arrive
And those great waters drowned
Our shouts with their roar
Refrain:
The great lords never arrived
To the kingdom of beggars
And the cries for help never crossed
The great waters
You'll only reach the kingdom of beggars
With a boat of pine bark
What will be lost and what will stay
I will keep as my own
Behind the horizon
A stranger arrived on a chariot of fire
He landed on the other shore
Next to the tattered boy
And the boy climbed on the chariot
Waving his small hand
So the chariot departed
Breaking us apart
I will come back to the shore
Time and time again
And cast a stone to the waters
That will break my picture
I will sit there until the night
Just waiting for him
That boy in tattered clothes
Knows something I can't know
Refrain:
The great lords never arrived
To the kingdom of beggars
And the cries for help never crossed
The great waters
You'll only reach the kingdom of beggars
With a boat of pine bark
What will be lost and what will stay
I will keep as my own
Dingo: Kerjäläisten valtakunta (1985)
E1. The Kingdom of Beggars
Maria, 15th February 2014:
At the meeting this morning, our Section Leader, Noora, was kind of strange. Nervous. She didn't even notice that I had forgotten my Lotta pin at home! Phew. I've never seen her like that – she's always so sure of herself. It must be the Strike – it continues still, even after being condemned by the Committee and after the Military Police has broken down many demonstrations. It was all over the radio and the TV. Many girls from our section have to work at the city kitchens to cover for the strikers now – I have some shifts this week, too. It is heavy work, but I should not complain – it would just land me another extra shift if Noora hears me talk about it...
We're all waiting for the Olympics to start – they say that our athletes have a real chance of getting several gold medals! There are some very cute guys in our team, too. Jaana and Minna talked a lot about the hockey team yesterday, but I think the ski-jumper Kiiskinen is the cutest – I have a poster of him in my room now. It has his autograph on it! Unlike the pictures of singers I have up too, Dad seems to approve of it. It's clear he's pumped up about the Olympics as well – and no wonder, I think. The last time they had them was before the War and even Dad was just a little boy back them. Imagine that!
I have to stop now – we're having a skiing relay competition against the 3rd Section and Noora wanted us to get there early to be prepared. We don't want to lose to them in skiing like we did in pesäpallo last August!
An excerpt from the private diary of Jan Holmén, dated February 2014:
And now it had come to this. Creeping in the shadows of dark alleys... With my collar up and the fur hat's flaps on my ears I was sure nobody could recognize me. But still the looks the few people on the street gave me seemed threatening... Was one of them working for the other side? And if he was, which side was that? It was both rattling and confusing – I was clearly not made for this crap.
After a while I found the building, or at least thought so. It was in the industrial area, corrugated iron, and looked half-abandoned. Still, here was the bar I was told to find. I stepped in through the creaking door.
Two men in the side table stopped talking as they saw me enter and gave me hostile looks. Both were wearing worn overalls and had half-empty glasses in front of them. Ignoring them, I stepped up to the counter. The thirtysomething man behind it was absentmindedly reading the Länsi-Savo[1]. The main headline today was ”SWEDEN BEATS FINLAND IN PRE-OLYMPIC HOCKEY FRIENDLY”. The man didn't seem too happy.
A worn cassette deck on the counter was playing an older Finnish song. It was as it should be.
After a while the man raised his eyes from the paper.
” - What will it be, chief?” he asked me quietly.
” - Just a small coffee, please.”
He nodded and poured me one. A small coffee it was – even after years of spending a lot of time in Finland, for a Swede the Finnish coffee portions are ridiculously small. It was not a cup, I thought – it was a thimble.
I handed the man a 1000 mark note.
He gave me back 10 marks. I looked at him in the eye.
” - I gave you a 1000 mark note.”
He just stared at me.
” - That was a 1000 mark note. 1000 marks.”
Still no response. I sat down in a vacant table.
Everything was going as it was supposed to. The man behind the counter stared at me for small moment, and then he exited through a door to the back.
Sipping my rapidly cooling coffee, I felt nervous. What if it was a trap? A cruel joke at my expense?
I felt ill.
The man returned with an older woman. He nodded towards me. The woman came to my table.
” - I am sorry to bother you”, I told her, ”but your prices here are exorbitant. I feel like being cheated – a small cup of coffee should not cost this much, even taking into account recent levels of inflation.”
The woman cocked her head.
” - So that is the way is it? Unhappy with the prices are you? Tell you what – I'll take you to the manager and you can discuss it with him.”
Here we go, I thought.
I followed the woman through the door in the back. The two men in the corner table scarcely looked at us.
Down the stairs we went. At the landing, she took out a blindfold and wrapped it around my head surprisingly gently. Taking me by the hand, the woman led me into the darkness. Her hand was calloused and hard – a lifetime of hard work will do that, I thought when we went down what seemed like a long corridor.
It was a long way of many twists and turns – perhaps deliberately so. Finally, after several minutes we stopped. I could hear several people around me in a bigger room. It smelled like we were in a cellar or another long-abandoned place – after you got used to all the tobacco smoke, of course.
The blindfold was removed, and for a while I was in turn blinded by the light shining into my eyes.
” - Welcome to the underground, Mr. Holmén”, said the voice of an older man, worn and somehow damaged but still curiously strong.
” - It is good to see you finally here. We were already starting to wonder whether you'll ever arrive. I am glad you have kept your word. Do you have the message with you?”
I nodded. My eyes were starting to get used to the light. It was a big room, all right. Cavernous. It looked like a wartime public shelter. It was illuminated by several smaller electric lights, but parts were still in the dark. There were chairs and desks with people sitting down next to them. There was a part of the hall separated with screen walls, behind which I could glimpse beds. In the other corner, a record player was on, playing a rock song.
As I handed the envelope to the man before me, I was struck by his size. He was probably almost two meters tall and imposing even if he was bit hunched over and steadying himself with a sturdy cane. He had a full salt-and-pepper beard and a long, flowing grey hair.
So this was the man they call ”Big H”, I thought. He certainly looked the part.
The man opened the letter, scrutinized the paper within for a while and then crumbled it in his hand.
” - It is as I thought it was.”
The man I estimated was at least sixty showed me to a table and we sat down.
” - The famous Mr. Holmén”, he mused, ”we have heard a lot about you”.
” - Not all bad, I hope, mister...."
I tried to force a smile on my lips.
” - Call me H. Everyone does anyway. You seem to be a man who cares for Finland. I have heard that you are actually from Finland yourself?”
” - That is right, in a way – I was born in Åland, and my mother took me to Sweden on the MS Rosella during the Exchange. I don't remember much from it all, apart from the panic and fear of the people aboard. I have only my mother's stories about the voyage and our arrival to Sweden.”
” - There are a lot of Finns in Sweden, hmm, and many of them have come back to help their homeland. Not as many as could be, but still it has been a major help all these years.”
He looked at me like he was measuring my worth.
” - Something to drink, Mr. Holmén?”
A younger man with a full beard and an old military jacket covered in various badges brought us a couple of bottles of beer. I thanked my host – my throat was feeling as dry as parchment.
” - You have interviewed a lot of people and gone through a lot of documents in your project. I know, as I have received some reading materials from our, well, mutual contacts.”
He sipped from his bottle.
” - What you have neglected to look at is the other side. My side.”
” - What do you mean?”
” - You have been dependent on the Finnish state and the Committee for your materials and the people you have interviewed, mostly. And it is understandable. But you could have been more daring, taken more risks – to get the real story. I grant you this – it is not entirely absent in your material. What you have written about the Lahti Free Area has some of it for example. And some of the other stories – pretty candid and sometimes surprising to me too.
And I've seen a lot.”
I looked around me in the big room. There was graffiti on the walls – anti-Committee slogans, anarchist symbols, mocking versions of FNA posters. To the left side, men and women were sitting in a circle, discussing something. One young man in a workman's overall was painting a pink picture of what seemed to be Acting President Leppänen in a dog collar.
” - And this is the other side?”, I asked the man they call Big H, indicating the room with my right hand.
” - Oh, this is part of it. One small part. The other side has continuity too, you see. You can't keep down the things Finland was – what it was besides stolid nationalism and simple survival. Political democracy, freedom of expression, open debate, new ideas. Progress and change.”
Abruptly, he stood up.
” - Walk with me.”
I followed the tall man walking unsteadily with his cane, a strange combination of weakness and curious, tenacious strength. At once ageless and old beyond his years.
We entered a smaller but still spacious, lower room by the side of the big hall. It was almost full of cupboards, bookcases and filing cabinets.
” - This was the shelter's sleeping quarters back in the day. Also a hospital, after the Exchange. Many people died here.”
There were people, mostly young, on the corridors formed by cabinets and bookcases. Some were reading something, others were going through old C-cassettes or piles of records in different old formats. A fair-haired woman with an 8-track player smiled to me when we passed her.
” - Some of us used to sleep here after we took over this shelter – when there was still room here, of course. Now it would be impossible.”
” - What is this place?”, I asked him.
” - This is our kingdom. One of our vaults, or repositories if you will – of music, mostly, but also books and art – all kinds of things the Committee doesn't want people to really know about. Things we have found and brought here for safe keeping. Things the Generals would want to destroy or just lock up indefinitely. Dangerous things.”
He smiled and looked at me in the eye.
” - Dangerous to them, that is. Not to you or me, not to Finland. Not to Sweden, either.”
It certainly didn't look dangerous around us. It was something like a bohemian library or an archive of sorts – there seemed to even be some order to the chaos around us, small tags on the aisle about what goes where. Just as we passed, a young man was attaching a plaque on one shelf saying ”MANSEROCK 1970-1984”.
” - The people you see here, they are the underground. They listen to Finnish punk rock – Ratsia, Pyhät Nuket, Lama, Hassisen Kone, Eppu Normaali, you name it. They worship at the shrine of Saint Juice.[2] They know the things the Committee would want to keep down for what it sees as Law and Order. And Recovery and Reconstruction, of course.”
This was all a bit overwhelming to me.
” - I know all this from personal experience, too – I used to dabble in music myself, both before and after the Exchange. Some of my records are here, too. And the kids, bless them, even sing my songs in their demonstrations. Of course after 1985 I could only make and perform music in between stints on corrective labor camps for ”disturbing the peace” and all that, but still...”
We went back to the great hall and sat down again. New bottles of beer appeared on the table as if by magic.
” - I hope this all gives you something to think about. I was elated to see you here today – it suggests that our would-be allies will be true to their word. We will see about that, but for now it seems we will be able to move forward with our plans. We need to talk more later, but now I am tired. I am an old, broken man.”
The man removed the caps from our two bottles.
” - It would be good to see some change in this land before I die. Some real change. I believe you know what I mean.”
We both took the bottles in hand, me and the man they call Big H.
” - A toast to martyrs, like someone I once knew used to sing – to the dead, to the living, to those that have passed and to those that are yet in our future.”
Notes:
[1] The main newspaper in the so-called Greater Mikkeli area, theoretically independent but in reality heavily controlled by the State Information Office.
[2] Refers to Juhani "Juice" Leskinen (1950-2009), a well-known Finnish musician and a long-time vocal critic of the National Committee's rule before his accidental death in 2009.
(filler)
And it shattered my image
There was a child on the other side
Who followed me
The stones would not fit
Into the pockets of his trousers
And his small knees
Were bloody with scratches
That boy gestured at me
With a piece of pine bark in his hand
He wanted to send it across the troubled waters
That message which was sent
Never would arrive
And those great waters drowned
Our shouts with their roar
Refrain:
The great lords never arrived
To the kingdom of beggars
And the cries for help never crossed
The great waters
You'll only reach the kingdom of beggars
With a boat of pine bark
What will be lost and what will stay
I will keep as my own
Behind the horizon
A stranger arrived on a chariot of fire
He landed on the other shore
Next to the tattered boy
And the boy climbed on the chariot
Waving his small hand
So the chariot departed
Breaking us apart
I will come back to the shore
Time and time again
And cast a stone to the waters
That will break my picture
I will sit there until the night
Just waiting for him
That boy in tattered clothes
Knows something I can't know
Refrain:
The great lords never arrived
To the kingdom of beggars
And the cries for help never crossed
The great waters
You'll only reach the kingdom of beggars
With a boat of pine bark
What will be lost and what will stay
I will keep as my own
Dingo: Kerjäläisten valtakunta (1985)
E1. The Kingdom of Beggars
Maria, 15th February 2014:
At the meeting this morning, our Section Leader, Noora, was kind of strange. Nervous. She didn't even notice that I had forgotten my Lotta pin at home! Phew. I've never seen her like that – she's always so sure of herself. It must be the Strike – it continues still, even after being condemned by the Committee and after the Military Police has broken down many demonstrations. It was all over the radio and the TV. Many girls from our section have to work at the city kitchens to cover for the strikers now – I have some shifts this week, too. It is heavy work, but I should not complain – it would just land me another extra shift if Noora hears me talk about it...
We're all waiting for the Olympics to start – they say that our athletes have a real chance of getting several gold medals! There are some very cute guys in our team, too. Jaana and Minna talked a lot about the hockey team yesterday, but I think the ski-jumper Kiiskinen is the cutest – I have a poster of him in my room now. It has his autograph on it! Unlike the pictures of singers I have up too, Dad seems to approve of it. It's clear he's pumped up about the Olympics as well – and no wonder, I think. The last time they had them was before the War and even Dad was just a little boy back them. Imagine that!
I have to stop now – we're having a skiing relay competition against the 3rd Section and Noora wanted us to get there early to be prepared. We don't want to lose to them in skiing like we did in pesäpallo last August!
An excerpt from the private diary of Jan Holmén, dated February 2014:
And now it had come to this. Creeping in the shadows of dark alleys... With my collar up and the fur hat's flaps on my ears I was sure nobody could recognize me. But still the looks the few people on the street gave me seemed threatening... Was one of them working for the other side? And if he was, which side was that? It was both rattling and confusing – I was clearly not made for this crap.
After a while I found the building, or at least thought so. It was in the industrial area, corrugated iron, and looked half-abandoned. Still, here was the bar I was told to find. I stepped in through the creaking door.
Two men in the side table stopped talking as they saw me enter and gave me hostile looks. Both were wearing worn overalls and had half-empty glasses in front of them. Ignoring them, I stepped up to the counter. The thirtysomething man behind it was absentmindedly reading the Länsi-Savo[1]. The main headline today was ”SWEDEN BEATS FINLAND IN PRE-OLYMPIC HOCKEY FRIENDLY”. The man didn't seem too happy.
A worn cassette deck on the counter was playing an older Finnish song. It was as it should be.
After a while the man raised his eyes from the paper.
” - What will it be, chief?” he asked me quietly.
” - Just a small coffee, please.”
He nodded and poured me one. A small coffee it was – even after years of spending a lot of time in Finland, for a Swede the Finnish coffee portions are ridiculously small. It was not a cup, I thought – it was a thimble.
I handed the man a 1000 mark note.
He gave me back 10 marks. I looked at him in the eye.
” - I gave you a 1000 mark note.”
He just stared at me.
” - That was a 1000 mark note. 1000 marks.”
Still no response. I sat down in a vacant table.
Everything was going as it was supposed to. The man behind the counter stared at me for small moment, and then he exited through a door to the back.
Sipping my rapidly cooling coffee, I felt nervous. What if it was a trap? A cruel joke at my expense?
I felt ill.
The man returned with an older woman. He nodded towards me. The woman came to my table.
” - I am sorry to bother you”, I told her, ”but your prices here are exorbitant. I feel like being cheated – a small cup of coffee should not cost this much, even taking into account recent levels of inflation.”
The woman cocked her head.
” - So that is the way is it? Unhappy with the prices are you? Tell you what – I'll take you to the manager and you can discuss it with him.”
Here we go, I thought.
I followed the woman through the door in the back. The two men in the corner table scarcely looked at us.
Down the stairs we went. At the landing, she took out a blindfold and wrapped it around my head surprisingly gently. Taking me by the hand, the woman led me into the darkness. Her hand was calloused and hard – a lifetime of hard work will do that, I thought when we went down what seemed like a long corridor.
It was a long way of many twists and turns – perhaps deliberately so. Finally, after several minutes we stopped. I could hear several people around me in a bigger room. It smelled like we were in a cellar or another long-abandoned place – after you got used to all the tobacco smoke, of course.
The blindfold was removed, and for a while I was in turn blinded by the light shining into my eyes.
” - Welcome to the underground, Mr. Holmén”, said the voice of an older man, worn and somehow damaged but still curiously strong.
” - It is good to see you finally here. We were already starting to wonder whether you'll ever arrive. I am glad you have kept your word. Do you have the message with you?”
I nodded. My eyes were starting to get used to the light. It was a big room, all right. Cavernous. It looked like a wartime public shelter. It was illuminated by several smaller electric lights, but parts were still in the dark. There were chairs and desks with people sitting down next to them. There was a part of the hall separated with screen walls, behind which I could glimpse beds. In the other corner, a record player was on, playing a rock song.
As I handed the envelope to the man before me, I was struck by his size. He was probably almost two meters tall and imposing even if he was bit hunched over and steadying himself with a sturdy cane. He had a full salt-and-pepper beard and a long, flowing grey hair.
So this was the man they call ”Big H”, I thought. He certainly looked the part.
The man opened the letter, scrutinized the paper within for a while and then crumbled it in his hand.
” - It is as I thought it was.”
The man I estimated was at least sixty showed me to a table and we sat down.
” - The famous Mr. Holmén”, he mused, ”we have heard a lot about you”.
” - Not all bad, I hope, mister...."
I tried to force a smile on my lips.
” - Call me H. Everyone does anyway. You seem to be a man who cares for Finland. I have heard that you are actually from Finland yourself?”
” - That is right, in a way – I was born in Åland, and my mother took me to Sweden on the MS Rosella during the Exchange. I don't remember much from it all, apart from the panic and fear of the people aboard. I have only my mother's stories about the voyage and our arrival to Sweden.”
” - There are a lot of Finns in Sweden, hmm, and many of them have come back to help their homeland. Not as many as could be, but still it has been a major help all these years.”
He looked at me like he was measuring my worth.
” - Something to drink, Mr. Holmén?”
A younger man with a full beard and an old military jacket covered in various badges brought us a couple of bottles of beer. I thanked my host – my throat was feeling as dry as parchment.
” - You have interviewed a lot of people and gone through a lot of documents in your project. I know, as I have received some reading materials from our, well, mutual contacts.”
He sipped from his bottle.
” - What you have neglected to look at is the other side. My side.”
” - What do you mean?”
” - You have been dependent on the Finnish state and the Committee for your materials and the people you have interviewed, mostly. And it is understandable. But you could have been more daring, taken more risks – to get the real story. I grant you this – it is not entirely absent in your material. What you have written about the Lahti Free Area has some of it for example. And some of the other stories – pretty candid and sometimes surprising to me too.
And I've seen a lot.”
I looked around me in the big room. There was graffiti on the walls – anti-Committee slogans, anarchist symbols, mocking versions of FNA posters. To the left side, men and women were sitting in a circle, discussing something. One young man in a workman's overall was painting a pink picture of what seemed to be Acting President Leppänen in a dog collar.
” - And this is the other side?”, I asked the man they call Big H, indicating the room with my right hand.
” - Oh, this is part of it. One small part. The other side has continuity too, you see. You can't keep down the things Finland was – what it was besides stolid nationalism and simple survival. Political democracy, freedom of expression, open debate, new ideas. Progress and change.”
Abruptly, he stood up.
” - Walk with me.”
I followed the tall man walking unsteadily with his cane, a strange combination of weakness and curious, tenacious strength. At once ageless and old beyond his years.
We entered a smaller but still spacious, lower room by the side of the big hall. It was almost full of cupboards, bookcases and filing cabinets.
” - This was the shelter's sleeping quarters back in the day. Also a hospital, after the Exchange. Many people died here.”
There were people, mostly young, on the corridors formed by cabinets and bookcases. Some were reading something, others were going through old C-cassettes or piles of records in different old formats. A fair-haired woman with an 8-track player smiled to me when we passed her.
” - Some of us used to sleep here after we took over this shelter – when there was still room here, of course. Now it would be impossible.”
” - What is this place?”, I asked him.
” - This is our kingdom. One of our vaults, or repositories if you will – of music, mostly, but also books and art – all kinds of things the Committee doesn't want people to really know about. Things we have found and brought here for safe keeping. Things the Generals would want to destroy or just lock up indefinitely. Dangerous things.”
He smiled and looked at me in the eye.
” - Dangerous to them, that is. Not to you or me, not to Finland. Not to Sweden, either.”
It certainly didn't look dangerous around us. It was something like a bohemian library or an archive of sorts – there seemed to even be some order to the chaos around us, small tags on the aisle about what goes where. Just as we passed, a young man was attaching a plaque on one shelf saying ”MANSEROCK 1970-1984”.
” - The people you see here, they are the underground. They listen to Finnish punk rock – Ratsia, Pyhät Nuket, Lama, Hassisen Kone, Eppu Normaali, you name it. They worship at the shrine of Saint Juice.[2] They know the things the Committee would want to keep down for what it sees as Law and Order. And Recovery and Reconstruction, of course.”
This was all a bit overwhelming to me.
” - I know all this from personal experience, too – I used to dabble in music myself, both before and after the Exchange. Some of my records are here, too. And the kids, bless them, even sing my songs in their demonstrations. Of course after 1985 I could only make and perform music in between stints on corrective labor camps for ”disturbing the peace” and all that, but still...”
We went back to the great hall and sat down again. New bottles of beer appeared on the table as if by magic.
” - I hope this all gives you something to think about. I was elated to see you here today – it suggests that our would-be allies will be true to their word. We will see about that, but for now it seems we will be able to move forward with our plans. We need to talk more later, but now I am tired. I am an old, broken man.”
The man removed the caps from our two bottles.
” - It would be good to see some change in this land before I die. Some real change. I believe you know what I mean.”
We both took the bottles in hand, me and the man they call Big H.
” - A toast to martyrs, like someone I once knew used to sing – to the dead, to the living, to those that have passed and to those that are yet in our future.”
Notes:
[1] The main newspaper in the so-called Greater Mikkeli area, theoretically independent but in reality heavily controlled by the State Information Office.
[2] Refers to Juhani "Juice" Leskinen (1950-2009), a well-known Finnish musician and a long-time vocal critic of the National Committee's rule before his accidental death in 2009.
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